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Date Posted: 17:22:18 11/15/02 Fri
Author: Thurman Skydive
Subject: Thurmacetamol

(Thurman Skydive strolls through the airport with a swagger in his step, and a cocky look in his eyes. Last time we saw him he seemed deep in thought and troubled, but after days to reflect, he seems much more upbeat.
He carries a bag with him, and has it slung over his shoulder, and he appears to be looking for someone. Finally his eyes light up as he spies the same scrawny reporter that interviewed him in New York earlier this week. He makes his way over, and as soon as he moves into view the camera team that has accompanied the reporter swings round and gets their first shots of the Thurmanator...)

Reporter: Okay Thurman...why did you want us to meet you here?

Skydive: Because man, it's Friday! Tomorrow it's Saturday...the big day and the big night! Little Man and Minion locked in a cage with Thurman Skydive. Hardcore title number one contendership on the line...

Reporter: So you called us all the way down here to tell us that?

Skydive: No you idiot. I called you here because I want to get an interview of me in the airport, right before I fly to Little Rock for my big match!

Reporter: Thurman...we're in Little Rock...you flew here yesterday! We all did!

Skydive: I'm making the best out of a bad situation, now are you going to interview me or not?

Reporter: What's in the bag?

Skydive: You'll see later if you interview me retard...now is it a yes or a no?

Reporter (sighing heavily and still sounding reluctant: Okay fine...I'm assuming you want to go somewhere quieter than standing right in the middle of passport control...

(Thurman turns on his heels, and leads the crew through a crowd of people to a sectioned off area of seating...he ducks under the yellow tape and parks himself lazing across three seats. The crew follow him, and it's clear that the reporter is wracking his brain, trying to come up with something productive to interview Skydive on...)

Skydive: Is this quiet enough for your crack team of interview operatives?

Reporter: I guess so yes. So an interview then...do you have anything in particular you want to talk about?

Skydive: I do believe that's your job...

Reporter: But you...fine WHATEVER! I'm guessing the point of this is Cypher...but he seemed awfully keen to drop you like the bad habit that you are...

Skydive: Awww...nobody wants to play with me! He doesn't know me all that well, and surely even he knows me good enough to know that I'm not gonna go away just because Cypher says 'get the f*ck out of here'! Cypher, I ain't going nowhere buddy. Hell, I've even got a little treat for you...reporting monkey...unzip my bag!

(The reporter does so...)

Skydive: Cypher, it seems like even you're preparing for the pain tomorrow night. You got your morphine all set to go. You know that Thurman Skydive's going to be there. It's only natural for you to feel afraid. I could be anywhere waiting to beat the living hell out of you couldn't I? So you've got your pretty little container full of morphine...only with a twist! You got your little felt tip pen out of your little pencil case, and you crossed out 'Morphine' didn't you...and you put 'Cyphallica' on instead!

And it's amazing. I know you hear on the news how gradually people are becoming immune to the drugs doctors prescribe...but it's incredible how quickly a drug that has been used for decade's to relieve pain can be rendered about as effective in the battle against pain as the contents of a grandmother's colostomy bag. That's the power of Cyphallica...pure, pumped straight from the bladder piss...gotta love it!
And that's why I got to thinking, what with Cyphallica rendering morphine completely worthless, people of the world need something new to cure their pain...which is why I came up with a solution of my own...

(Thurman reaches into his bag, and pulls out a small brown plastic jar. On the label, the word 'Paracetamol' has been crossed out with red crayon, and replaced with...)

Skydive: That's right people...say hello to 'Thurmacetamol'! If you've got aches and pains like Cypher's gonna have once I'm through beating the crap out of him, then you'll need all the Thurmacetamol you can get to help ease them away.
But my dear Thurmaniacs, Thurmacetamol isn't just a painkiller, oh no! It's the one stop quick fix double dose of wonder-drug that can see all your problems melt away! Are you an insomniac? Well take a few of these bad boys before bed and you'll be more unconscious than Cypher flat on his back after the Skydive Slam! These things can even help if you're a filthy dirty Canadian...like Cypher!!

Reporter: Thurman...that's not very p/c!

Skydive: Sorry son...they don't work on jackasses - fit for human consumption only!

Reporter: Can we focus? Cypher seems confident that you're not worth his time, what do you say to that?

Skydive: I care about Cypher's confidence about as much as I care to have a nail hammered through my skull with a sledgehammer. Whether I can handle it or not, whether I'm out of my depth or not...whether he wants a World title shot or not...I WANT Cypher! No matter how much Cyphallica he injects into his left buttock, I want to beat the living sh*t out of him, and believe me it will come. He booked himself a one way ticket to Thurmanation the three seconds he decided to lay with his shoulders pinned to the mat underneath Deadbeat's sweaty carcass.

Cypher, I might mean 'dick-all' now...but you'll remember that sentence, and how wrong you were again and again and again. I'm gonna pound your teeth down your throat and watch you swallow them like your words. I'll be watching tomorrow night...good luck with Deadcell - and after that...good luck PERIOD!

(Thurman chucks the bottle of Thurmacetamol pills into the reporter's lap, and chuckles to himself, before getting to his feet, straightening his jacket. He looks up, and realises the section of seating he led the crew to was in fact a disabled area...and that an angry airport official stands at the gate glaring at him...)

Official: Sir, do you realise we've had to keep several passengers waiting with their luggage because you and these gentlemen have been taking up their seating area...

Skydive: Sorry man...give them a few bottles of this. If they wait outside the arena Sunday night maybe I'll be real nice and sign them...

(Skydive hands the official the bag, which contains a few more bottles of Thurmacetamol...then strolls casually out of the airport, whistling as he goes...)

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